


Beyond Words

by shimmermetimbers



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Cross-Faction Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Language Barrier, Night Elf, Stranglethorn Vale, Trolls are sexy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25982446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimmermetimbers/pseuds/shimmermetimbers
Summary: A chance encounter between two members of the opposite faction in contested territory is not supposed to end well. Night Elf Ilandria was trained to strike first, ask questions later...But  Zi'Tak the troll is wounded and needs her aid... and suddenly nothing is going according to her Alliance training. Race, faction, and even language challenge them and try to keep them apart...but the depths of certain bonds are forged beyond words.
Relationships: Female Night Elf | Elves/Male Troll(s) (Warcraft), Night Elf | Elves/Troll(s) (Warcraft)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	1. The Coast

_Enough is enough._

Ilandria wandered through the brush along the shore, watching for Naga on the beach. She had walked several miles away from the jungle city of Booty Bay, glad to leave the drunken revelry behind her. She had no idea what festival was being celebrated that weekend: it felt like every day there was something. Every day the taverns and bars along the pier lured tourists with invitations to celebrate some highly-suspect festival. She couldn’t escape the boisterous celebration in her house nestled among the many other whitewashed houses hanging off Booty Bay’s sunny mountainside. She had tried. She had shuttered her bedroom window against the din in the streets below but the heat made her toss and turn in her bed. That evening she'd decided to get dressed and push her way past a block of inebriated revelers who were singing, shouting, and blowing the annoying paper horn favors all the bars distributed to people on the streets to curry their patronage. She braved bits of confetti and tangled streamers tossed her way, catcalls from a nearby party, and the inevitable unpleasant brush against a sweaty body dancing in the crowd.

When she pushed past one of the Cartel bruisers guarding the city’s entrance, he measured her up, surprised.

“Everyone’s trying to get in, to party— and you’re getting _out_?”

“It’s way too noisy for me,” the Night Elf admitted.

“What did you expect? It’s Pirate Day in Booty Bay.” He shrugged, turning his attention back to the restless crowd. 

“In Booty Bay it feels like a holiday lasts two or three nights,” she grumbled. 

There were the pre-celebratory festivities, to warm up for the holiday, and then there were the after-parties, to wrap-up the festivities—there was always an excuse to drink and act boisterously. 

She took her satchel and for a little while she stayed on the main road watched by the fearsome goblins, passing by small groups of Alliance and Horde. Under the watchful gaze of the goblins, nothing went amiss: everyone stayed in their lane, minding themselves, surrendering to the permissive and festive atmosphere.

But Ilandria was not in the mood to celebrate. 

At a large rock formation, she veered off the path and took a side trail that wound down into the deep jungle. The trail ended in the jungle, but she knew how to get to an idyllic, secluded stretch of the coast from there. She moved spryly, making sure she stayed well hidden in the darkness. 

During one of her excursions through the Vale, she had come across an abandoned watch post built on top of a tree. She’d come across it by accident—she’d just happened to look up and noticed the wooden platform secured around the upper half of a tree trunk. It was an old watch post but it was still sturdy and functional. Best of all, it had been completely forgotten. A small hut sat at the center of the circular platform, providing shelter from the rain and wind and providing spectacular views of the coast on one side and the jungle's canopy from the other. She suspected it had once belonged to the Circle of Cenarion, but the state of neglect she'd found it in meant that it hadn't been in use for a long time. When she'd first found it, it had been covered in debris: scattered leaves, broken branches, the abandoned nests of birds and other creatures. But once she’d found her little tree-house outpost, she made it her refuge as often as she could. It was peaceful, isolated, well-hidden, and offered her breathtaking views. She had cleaned it out, replaced the frayed rope ladder, and on those hot, stifling Booty Bay nights, she would sometimes steal away to her little haven and once there, she would draw up the rope so she would not be visited by any uninvited guests and spread her sleeping sack on the ground. It was soothing to fall asleep listening to the sound of the waves and the sounds of the night jungle. 

When she finally arrived, she adjusted her small pack over her shoulders and fished out the coarse sisal rope strategically coiled beneath some vines. With a strong tug, she began climb upward, quickly pulling herself toward the tall platform. 

* * *

Ilandria realized something was amiss as soon as she hauled herself over the platform. There were always scattered leaves and branches. Sometimes she found herself sharing the tree house with some birds or small bats. She didn’t mind any of that. But when she entered the hut, she saw a large, dark shape huddled in one of the corners. As soon as the creature heard her, it shifted slightly and Ilandria’s blood froze: a red glint flashed briefly in the darkness just as moonlight broke through a cloud. Her mouth went dry and she heard it: a low, raspy sound.

_Is it an animal?_ She thought of one of the large felines that prowled the jungle—but could one of those manage to climb up so high without the aid of tree branches? She carefully and slowly reached for the Alliance standard-issue dagger she carried in a sheath attached to her belt.

“Who is there?” she asked softly.

The shadowy figure rustled, startled. She circled toward it from the left, trying to see better, her hand firmly planted on the dagger’s handle. As she made to move closer to it, the figure rose and she was paralyzed— too startled to move another step.

Now, standing at his full height, Ilandria could see who the intruder was.

A troll. A fierce, blue-skinned, fire-haired troll glaring at her, his chest heaving.

Ilandria cursed to herself softly, commanding herself to stay calm. She could brawl if she had to; she had gotten out of some dicey situations before.

They both seemed to remain still, sizing each other up in a sort of impasse. Ilandria finally lunged toward the troll, her dagger aimed at his torso.

The Alliance's training had been clear: _When it comes to the Horde, strike first, ask later._

It was dark though, and when she stepped forward, her foot rolled over a large twig. She briefly lost her footing and overstepped her mark.

_Shit_ , she thought, panicked, her eyes wide as she sensed the figure move lithely behind her. She turned rapidly to see all he had managed to do was change places. Now, he stood in the landing, under the bright moonlight. Gripping her dagger, she prepared to strike again.

However, instead of engaging her, the troll raised both his hands in an appeasing gesture, demonstrating that he was unarmed.

Her eyes narrowed and her heart raced. 

It could be a trick. He could be luring her. She had heard terrible stories about trolls. 

It was then that the troll dropped to his knees, his hands still raised. She noticed at last that one of his hands was stained. When her eyes roamed to his bared torso, she saw it: the troll was wounded.

“Help,” he uttered weakly in Common.

She hesitated for a moment, all the alarms in her head deafening. 

“Please,” he managed to say before collapsing. 

It was all she needed to hear, to still the panic and confusion in her mind. _Troll, Horde, enemy, killer_ —whatever the warnings screeched—all she could process that moment was that before her was another fellow, sentient being. And he was in pain. Asking for help. 

She threw her pack down and rushed over to the fallen troll. He lay on his back, his angular face contorted in a grimace. She knelt beside him and examined the thin barb lodged in his chest.

“Naga…spear,” he stammered, before letting out a pained hiss. 

“Shhh.” She reached for her pack and pulled out a small lantern. Before she lit it, she cast a spell to conceal the light from prying eyes to keep their location secret. The troll merely lay on the ground, heaving shallow breaths.

_Think, think_ …She ordered herself against her growing panic, reaching in her pack again and pulling out the small first-aid kit she always brought on those outings. 

“Poison,” he continued. “Stop everything.” She dropped her pack, but he shook his head. “Stop da heart. Stop da —” and he said a few other words she couldn’t understand. “ Poison stop heart,” he bemoaned. 

She blinked rapidly, feeling a growing feeling of dread. Did she have anything that could help against naga poison? 

“I’ll go get help!”

Maybe if she ran, she could reach one of the bruisers on the path... In what?…Fifteen? Twenty minutes? Did he even have that long?

The troll shook his head, his eyes shifting toward the inside of the tree house.

“Dis!” he pointed at her pack, nudging it with his fingers. “Like dis. Mine. In.” He pointed at the tree house.

It took her a few seconds to piece what he wanted. She rushed in with the lantern and searched the small mess inside the hut for his pack. It was a large pack, and she quickly carried it out to him. He nodded, gratefully.

“In,” he encouraged her. “In.”

She began to sort through the contents until she noticed his breathing was becoming more labored. She emptied its contents over the ground, seized by the fear that she would fail him. Several pouches rolled out along with a couple vials and a small bottle.

“Jang,” he insisted, making an effort to turn his head. His tusks were smaller and curved upward and outwardly, but they still bumped against the ground as he tried to examine the spilled contents of his bag. He squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of pain seized him. “Aah,” he groaned in a whisper. “Jang: jang!” he pleaded. She perused the items hoping something would be labeled in an easily identifiable way.

_What were the chances_ , she winced, as she noticed everything was written in an impossible alphabet. 

“Jang?” she asked, in a beseeching voice. _Help me_ , she thought, exasperated.

He exhaled, equally frustrated. She grabbed a pouch and a vial in each hand and brought them before his face.

“Jang: is it in a pouch… or vial?” she alternated each one in front of his eyes.

“Jang,” he nodded, indicating the vial. 

“Jang?” 

He shook his head, but she had understood: what he needed was in a vial. She grabbed the four vials she found and raised them to his eyes. At the sight of one of them, he grew agitated, trying to nod his head.

“Jang! Jang!” he repeated.

She quickly uncorked the vial and offered it to him. He raised his head with difficulty and parted his lips.

_All right_ , she thought, helping him tip it into his mouth. He drank the entire little bottle. When he was done, he let his head drop back down. He stared at the sky, at the moon, and she sat beside him, listening, watching, only realizing she had been holding her breath when he began to cough and gasp for air. She touched his arm, worried.

_Did it fail? Was I too late?_

But his breathing gradually evened out and she realized his breaths were growing deeper, more normal. He inhaled deeply after a few minutes, pulling his gaze away from the sky.

“Jaboa,” he began at last, examining her. “Thank ya.” He offered her a wan grin.

She returned the grin.

“Spear,” he continued, touching the spot just below his wound. “Now. Spear. Out. Ya help?”

She nodded. 

“No more poison?” she asked, reaching for her bag. 

“No. Poison, dead. Jang— boom: poison! Poison, okkie-dokkie now,” he explained dramatically. “Spear. Bad, here.” He indicated it again. She couldn’t help grinning at his limited vocabulary but lively descriptions. 

“It might bleed a lot.” She examined the jagged barb his chest. 

“No deep. Little bit,” he assured her. His face grew grave, “Poison danger. No spear.”

“Okay.” She nodded. But before she could attempt to remove the barb, he had placed his large hand over it and yanked it out. A fresh surge of blood welled up from the fresh gap. Ilandria quickly folded and pressed the clean strips of gauze she had packed to his chest. He stared at the barb, assailing it with a barrage of angry words muttered in Zandali. The wad of linen quickly grew red at the bottom, but it appeared to be staunching the blood. 

“Naga fuck.” He peered at the shore angrily.

“Yes,” she agreed, this time smiling broadly. “Fuck Naga.”

He narrowed his eyes, turning his head back to face her.

“Fuck Naga,” he repeated slowly. “No 'Naga fuck'?” There was a tinge of curiosity in his tone.

“I’m sure Naga fuck, otherwise there wouldn’t be so many of them, would there? But I think you mean ‘fuck Naga’,” she teased, not minding that he probably didn’t understand her, but immensely relieved that he hadn’t died right then and there.

“Yah. Fuck Naga!” he said, more threateningly, followed by a great laugh. She couldn’t help but laugh, too. To her surprise, he pressed his hand over hers.

“Here. Like this,” he instructed her, placing more pressure on the wound. “Yah?”

She pressed harder, but he didn’t lift his hand. His hand was so large over hers, she noted. And strong.

“Yah,” she repeated.

“I help.” He winked and she smiled.

* * *

She fell asleep by his side, her hand firmly under his, holding the gauze over his chest. She only became aware that she had fallen asleep when she felt herself jostled slightly to the side, as he bent over her and sorted through his belongings. She sleepily saw him pick a pouch and then dump its contents—something pungent that reminded her of dried tea leaves—over his wound. He sat up and grabbed a roll of gauze and began wrapping it around his chest. He caught her staring at him and paused.

“Sleep,” he whispered. He finished wrapping his injury. Content with his handiwork, he pat it briefly before lying down again next to her. “Sleep,” he insisted. She closed her eyes, succumbing to her exhaustion. She felt herself jostled one last time, as he extended his arm and pulled her closer to him, so she could rest her head on his good shoulder instead of the hard floor. Her eyes fluttered open, very briefly, and she noted he had shut his eyes, his face turned toward the moon and the sea.


	2. Morning

Ilandria's entire body felt stiff when she awoke the next morning. Waves crashed on the shore nearby—the tide had come in and had practically submerged the thin strip of beach just a few meters away from the tree. The jungle was alive with the chirps and cawing of birds. The troll was not by her side—but somehow, before stepping away, he’d placed the light blanket she had packed under her head.

 _I wonder if he is all right_ , she thought groggily, sitting up and peering out to the sea. It was still morning, she sensed. She was startled out of the brief spell by the sound of footsteps inside the tree house and a low, rumbling hum.

Even exhausted, Ilandria felt a small twinge of delight at the realization the troll was still there.

He stepped outside. His bright red hair was wet and little beads of water flecked his chest and shoulders. Around his waist, he’d wrapped a white towel.

“Aah!” he’d cried out cheerfully at upon seeing her awaken. He ran his hands vigorously through his hair, shaking off excess water, soaking part of the platform.

He was muscular and strong, she remarked, taking in the lean, well-toned abdomen. The wound was uncovered—it looked red and bruised, but not nearly as raw and open as it had appeared the previous night. She rubbed her face, trying not to linger on the fact that the rest of that chiseled body was covered by a flimsy white towel.

“Are you feeling better today?”

“Yah!” he nodded affirmatively, looking down at his chest. He poked it gingerly. “Better,” he told her. “Good. Medicine.” He smiled and crouched down beside her. “Name be Zi'Tak.”

“Ilandria.” She nodded. 

“I-lan-dree-yah,” he repeated slowly. He dropped his gaze. “Thank ya. Friend. Ilandria be friend Zi'Tak.”

"Yes. Friend.” She couldn’t help smiling again. He was this large, intimidating troll, but he was disarmingly sweet. She stood up, pushing up from the ground. “Well, I am glad you are better. I’m going to head back home.” 

A flash of confusion crossed Zi'Tak's face.

“Ya go? Now?”

Ilandria reached down for the folded blanket.

“Yes. You stay here.” She peered up, the sunshine dappling the tree house and platform between the foliage. A warm breeze rustled the leaves. The tide soothingly lapped at the shore. “It’s a beautiful day. You,” she pointed at him, “rest here.”

“No.” He said it with so much disappointment, she tilted her head and smiled. “No,” he argued helplessly. “Ilandria stay. Zi'Tak have food!”

He shot up and disappeared into the tree house again, rummaging inside noisily until he stepped out, now dressed, with a few ripe sunfruits piled in his hands. He appeared so pleased with his bounty, she didn’t have the heart to tell him she didn’t particularly care for the fruit. He brought them outside and placed them down on the ground. Before she could react, he disappeared inside again and reappeared seconds later with a large blanket, beautifully woven with geometric patterns in bright warm colors. He spread it out on the platform and carefully placed the fruit on it. He also put his canteen out, condensation collecting around the metal. He would glance over to her every little while to see how she was reacting to his attempts at being a gracious host. He contemplated his handiwork and raised a finger at her, as if asking her to wait. He ran around the tree house, to the opposite platform and bent over the railing, apparently tugging at the tree branches beyond. When he returned, he placed a fresh jungle flower bloom at the center of the display. 

“Very good, yah?” He crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows at her.

“It is,” she agreed. She moved to the blanket, disguising her grin and he let out a satisfied grunt as he sat across from her. 

“Water,” he pointed to the canteen.

“No tea?” She mimed drinking from a cup and feigned great disappointment. He narrowed his eyes at her and the indignant comments he was making in his language made her laugh. He grinned at her before taking one of the sunfruit and peeling it with a rondel dagger. She reached for the jungle flower, her fingertips brushing against the velvety petals, its fragrance heady and musky. That flower, a tuberose, grew throughout the jungle on vines that wrapped around the trees in a symbiotic partnership: the trees provided the vines safety: a chance to grow up and away from the jungle floor, where it would be inevitably trampled or eaten, and gave it a foothold to seek sunlight and life. In exchange, the vines repelled pests from the trees with pungent blooms. 

“Ya like flower?” Zi'Tak asked her, peeling a neat spiral of rind from the sunfruit.

“Yes.” She had no idea if he would understand her. “I am an herbalist.”

He tilted his head.

“Herbalist?”

“I study plants. Flowers,” she tried.

He exhaled lightly, shaking his head. She pressed her lips, thinking for a moment before miming examining the plant, scratching her head, taking notes.

He widened his eyes with excitement.

“Herbalist! Ya know flower! Go to flower school!” He reached back, dragging his satchel closer. He pulled out a leather-bound book and flipped it open. She leaned over and peered at the page he was showing her. It contained a detailed sketch of a firebloom. It was artfully done and along the margins were unintelligible notes.

“You are an herbalist too?” She raised her gaze to his deep reddish-gold eyes. 

“No. No big herbalist—a little herbalist.”

“A little herbalist?” she puzzled, amused. He cut off a tiny slice of sunfruit, took a bite, and after a few seconds, nodded his head in approval.

“Good. Here. For ya.” He handed the entire peeled fruit to her. She couldn’t help feeling a little bit flattered that he had made sure the fruit was sweet before offering it to her. “Zi'Tak…little herbalist. Zi'Tak _druid_ , ” he explained, bringing his fist to his chest. She took a bite of the fruit— it tasted better than what she expected: tangy but perfectly sweet. 

“Mmm…Good!” She pointed at the fruit. He grinned again, nodding, pleased. “So, you are a druid… What are you doing here, in Stranglethorn?”

He pointed toward the jungle. 

“Plants…sick. Circle say: poison. Where? Zi'Tak be druid. Circle say: go see. Who do poison? Naga? Kurzen? Nesingwary?”

At the sound of the poacher’s name, Ilandria couldn’t repress an expression of disgust.

“Nesingwary _e’chuta_ ,” he agreed, scornfully.

“ _E’chuta_ ,” she repeated just as vigorously. Surprised, he tossed his head back and laughed.

“Sssh! Bad, bad…” he chuckled, placing a finger over his lips, indicating he had just taught her an insult or a swear.

She gathered, piecing together what Zi'Tak tried to explain, that he had been sent by the Circle of Cenarius to check on some disease that had been afflicting the plants and animals further in the jungle. She attempted to explain to him that she hadn’t noticed anything in the region, but that she specialized in studying trees. They spent the morning just talking, savoring the ripe sunfruit, and enjoying the view from the tree house. They were finding a way to understand each other, between broken phrases, some mimicking of gestures, and even drawing pictures. He'd explained to her, through much effort, that he had been exploring a stretch of the coast further north when he was attacked by a naga warrior. When he was wounded, he'd taken his flight form, knowing that he needed to tend to his wound immediately. He'd spotted the tree post from above and taken his chances. 

"Then Ilandria come." He smiled.

Zi'Tak could draw beautifully, she learned. He’d let her peruse his journal and she discovered his sketches of various plants and animals, some she had never seen before. He drew landscapes and people—places and faces that were strange and foreign to her. She let her eyes drop to his chest as he drank from his canteen. He was shirtless and had changed into a pair of brown britches. The wound on his chest was healing fast, she noted curiously. Zi'Tak placed the canteen down between them, twisting the cap shut. His arms were long, well defined, long and muscular. On his blue skin, a black tattoo wrapped around his upper arm—a series of lines of varying thickness. He caught her staring and she quickly averted her eyes back to his journal.

“This is beautiful,” she told him. 

“Beautiful,” he repeated dutifully.

She pointed again to the journal. “Beautiful.” She pointed at the jungle flower. “Beautiful.” She pointed to the sea. “Beautiful.”

“Aaah,” he nodded, understanding. He pointed at an orange and green plumed conure, raking its beak on the railing further away from them. “Beautiful.”

A brilliant blue morphos butterfly shimmered between the branches, weaving its way past them, toward the jungle.

“Beautiful!” they both cried out. They then smiled at each other. 

“No beautiful,” Zi'Tak said wistfully, pointing to himself. 

Ilandria chuckled, amused by his obvious fishing for a compliment. 

“Yes, yes, Zi'Tak beautiful, too!” she told him cheerfully.

“Kyari, kyari!” he chuckled, shaking his head. “No, No…Ya no tell Zi'Tak real!” 

“Are you calling me a liar?” she feigned indignation and he laughed that deep, throaty laugh. 

“Yah! Liar! Kyari!…” he sang, tsking her. 

He was so easy to get along with, she thought, laughing at his charming antics. He was so endearing and considerate and she…She found him interesting, intriguing… Yes, she had seen and been among the races of the Horde before living in Booty Bay, but had she ever had the opportunity to spend time like this with any? He began to collect the discarded peels and seeds of the sunfruit they’d eaten and checked on the canteen, shaking it lightly. 

“Zi'Tak go. Get water, OK?” he explained. 

He was standing up, surveying the landing below, his shoulders broad as he turned his back to her. She wondered dazedly what it would feel like to run her hands over that strong back, to feel his skin against hers… She held her breath for a moment and she understood that she needed to leave. “Zi'Tak, I am going home,” she told him. _What am I doing here? I only meant to help someone in need…And now I am lingering here thinking all kinds of nonsense!_ she scolded herself.

“Ilandria,” he murmured in a low, almost hurt tone. “Ilandria, no stay? Why? Please. Stay,” he asked gently. “Stay. One day.” He grabbed his journal and opened it to a page where they had doodled random things to each other on. He drew a sun, a moon, and then another sun.

“Tomorrow?” she wondered.

“Tomorrow! Ya go tomorrow. Zi'Tak go tomorrow. Now, Ilandria friend and Zi'Tak friend. Here!” He indicated their surroundings. “Beautiful!” he cried happily. “Please,” he begged. 

Weeeell…she had left Booty Bay to escape to that idyllic, secluded little corner of the world…And it was a glorious, sunny, hot day. Returning to Booty Bay…Could she really stand being in her small house in that heat when she could be outside, enjoying the sea and the breeze? 

And Zi'Tak's absolutely charming presence?

As she pondered this, Zi'Tak pointed to the sea.

“Ilandria!” He began to move his arms as if he were swimming.

“You want to go swimming?”

“Yah! Zi'Tak and Ilandria swimming. Go. Now.”

She looked at the limpid blue sea, the sand on the small beach fine and white. 

“Ooh- Ya like _hyuxu?_ ” 

She handed him the journal. He eagerly grabbed the pencil and sketched the outline of a fish.

“ _Hyuxu_ ,” he repeated. “ _Hyuxu_. Beautiful in here!” He pointed at his taut stomach, proceeding to rub it gleefully. It was a playful gesture, but she had found it strangely arousing. She blinked a few times before meeting his inquisitive gaze. 

“You mean _fish_ is _delicious_ ,” she stated slowly. She pretended to eat, making a blissful expression. “Delicious!” she said.

“Aaah!” He began jotting something down in the journal over his drawing. “Hyuxu: _fish_.” He pat his stomach. “ _Delicious_.”

“Yes. Not _beautiful_. _Delicious_ … Like, good!” she explained. “Mmm, delicious!” She imitated his gesture. “Mmm, good!” This time she caught his deep, intense gaze fixed upon her. He quickly broke eye contact, though, jotting down the word. “Zi'Tak learn,” he muttered in that good-natured way of his.

“Hyuxu delicious. Go swimming with Zi'Tak. Good day. Ilandria stay?” he asked again.

The expression in his eyes was so earnest, so sweet… What could be better than where she was right then, in the company of that enticing troll?

But would she be able to evince self-control?…

“Well…” she hesitated.

He knelt down and placed his journal back in his satchel, before he placed his hand dramatically over his wound and proceeded to wince in pain. It was a very hammy performance.

“Gaaah! Zi'Tak no good! Ilandria stay. Help!” he cried dramatically, his eyes closed. 

“That is terrible,” she scolded him, smirking. He opened one eye.

“No work?”

She did not reply.

“Okkie-dokkie,” he sighed, standing up again. “Ok. Zi'Tak understand,” he struggled to explain. “Ilandria go home.” He forced himself to offer her a small smile. He closed his hand into a fist and tapped it gently over his heart, over his wound. “Thank ya.” He bowed his head briefly. “Ilandria friend Zi'Tak.” 

* * *

She slowly collected her belongings as he folded up the beautiful blanket he’d spread out for them. Just as she was finishing, she startled to find him standing next to her. In his hand was the jungle flower.

“Ilandria,” he whispered, offering her the flower.

“A present?” she asked, touched by the simple gesture, taking the flower from him. Their fingertips brushed against each other and a pleasant shiver coursed down her spine.

“Thank ya,” he repeated, sincerely. 

With that, he climbed down the rope. He waited below, holding the rope taut for her. She quickly surveyed the tree house and grabbed her pack. He watched her climb down, smiling when she reached the ground. 

“Good-bye, Zi'Tak. It was nice meeting you. Take care and don’t go off pissing off the Naga,” she told him, wondering if he would get the gist of what she was saying.

“Bye, Ilandria, good friend.” He took her hand and squeezed it affectionately. “Go safe,” he admonished her. “Fuck Naga!” He grinned slyly.

“Naga _e’chuta!_ ” she quickly retorted.

He let out a loud rumble of a laugh, delighting in her use of the expression.

For a brief moment they stood like that, unsure, a deliciously awkward silence between them. She ended the impasse by fastening the flower behind her ear. He stepped back, admiring her.

“Beautiful,” Zi'Tak said approvingly. "Very, very."

Ilandria flushed with pleasure.

* * *

 _What the hell am I thinking?_ she thought, a half hour or so into her hike back to Booty Bay. A leaden despondency had set within her and she just did not feel like trudging back to Booty Bay. The thought of her house and all the chores that awaited her filled her frustration. She would be alone: her roommates were all away, celebrating the holiday. She couldn’t stop thinking of Zi'Tak back at the shore, cheerful and interesting, and kind, and enjoying her company so very much. And she was running away…from what? 

_He’s a member of the Horde_ , she warned herself. _But he’s also a druid…and druids…_ What had one of teachers told her? 

“Now druids are in a class all of their own. They answer to the Circle first— you can’t always count on their loyalty to their faction.”

She was deep in the jungle and it was gloomy and humid. Insects buzzed annoyingly by her ears and she swatted at them impatiently.

 _I could really, really use a nice swim in the cool sea right now_ , she mused. _And I could really, really use the company of that handsome troll even more_ , she decided.

 _So, I will!_ She decided giddily, turning on her heels and backtracking quickly. 


	3. A Pleasant Afternoon

She emerged from the jungle, her eyes stinging from the sudden bright sunlight. She raised her arm, blocking the sunlight’s glare and searched the shore. The rope was still dangling from the tree house, which meant Zi'Tak was probably still on the ground somewhere. She walked a few steps forward and dropped her pack. She glimpsed him further, sitting on the beach, his back to her, hunched, his arms encircling his folded legs, looking out and contemplating the waves.

“Zi'Tak!” she called out.

He whirled around, surprised, until he found her standing on the small forest ledge before the beach. He offered her the warmest, brightest smile she had seen and any misgivings she’d had about returning faded away at the sight of it. He sprung up, wiping the sand off his hands, and walked spryly to her.

“Ya ok?” he worried for a moment.

“I’m ok,” she reassured him. “The jungle is too hot.” She waved her hand in a cooling gesture. “I go home tomorrow,” she explained. He offered her another winsome smile that set her stomach aflutter. “I want to swim!” 

It was as if she had given him the best news in the world, she thought, laughing as he cheered.

“Come! Come swim!” He grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward the shore.

* * *

He waded into the water in his britches, something she found a bit funny and quaint. Perhaps he was being considerate? She appreciated it: she would have been a bit panicked if he had stripped, mostly because she wouldn’t have known where to look and how to act aloof if he were gloriously naked. He yelped out comically at the initial shock of cool water.

“Cold?” she called, wading in slowly.

“Cold, cold,” he huffed, rushing in with a big splash. “Come! Cold, good!”

She pulled off her sweaty shirt, tugging modestly at the thick binding over her breasts, ensuring it was in place. He stayed afloat just a bit off the shore, watching her. Next, she peeled off her trousers, grateful she had worn black shorts-like undergarments. She left her clothing in a small pile and wound her long black hair into a simple knot. The cold water was up to her waist, but she knew once she was fully in, it would feel amazingly refreshing. She began to sink deeper, steeling herself for the temperature shock. 

“Go, go!” Zi'Tak encouraged her, pushing off and drifting on his back, watching her make her way. 

She dunked herself all the way to her shoulders. Zi'Tak swam closer.

“Good, no?”

“It’s very nice,” she told him, contentedly. He dove back into the water, kicking his legs up, until he was doing a headstand close to her. Iliandria snorted and pushed his legs over, watching them slowly fall. Zi'Tak emerged from the water complaining.

“Hey! No!” he scolded her playfully. “Zi'Tak swim beautiful” he protested, taking a deep breath and diving back down again. He kicked his legs up again and she quickly pushed them over. This time, though, instead of just collapsing, Zi'Tak swam toward her underwater, grabbing her ankles and making her lose her footing. She gasped and went under for a moment. Zi'Tak was chuckling when she emerged again. She wiped the water off her face and splashed him lightly.

“Oooh!” he shouted, feigning outrage. He splashed back and soon they were engaged in a full out splashing war, with Ilandria tossing strips of seaweed at him. “Aah, bad, bad!” he chided her, deflecting the wads of seaweed she tossed at his face. He lunged at her. He seized both her arms, rapidly wrapping his own around her torso, to immobilize her. It was all in play, but when he pulled her closer and pinned her against him, they both grew quiet after their laughter faded. It felt awfully nice, she thought, feeling his chest against her back. 

He let go abruptly, diving away from her. She turned around, deflated. If he had wanted to test her waters, she wouldn’t have rebuffed him, she thought glumly. Maybe she was the only one enjoying the furtive touches.

“Ilandria!” he called to her, running his hands over his slicked back hair. “Samaki!” He gestured to himself and then the water. “Zi'Tak go fish!” he explained. 

“Ok!” She gestured approvingly. “Be careful!” 

"No worry- Zi'Tak druid. Druid swim good! Be like fish!"

"Then don't hunt yourself," she teased.

He splashed off and then seemed to disappear under the water. She floated for a bit, enjoying the gentle lull of the waves, the intense blue of the sky, and the warm sun on her skin. After a short while, she ventured a look over the water. All was quiet. She sighed heavily and waded back to the shore, squeezing the water out of her hair. The fine sand burned the soles of her feet and she rushed to the shadow of the big tree. 

_He wanted to swim with me and now he’s left me all alone_ , she huffed. _And I came back just to spend time with him and now he’s acting strangely_ , she thought, stung by how quickly he’d released her and rejected her closeness. Now she was alone, in wet underclothes that would not dry quickly, feeling foolish and slightly embarrassed. She dug up a small mound of sand to lean against and rested against it, looking out toward the beautiful sea. She folded her hands over her stomach, feeling the sand adhering to her back, to the back of her wet legs. It was grainy and warm, even under the dappled shadow of the tree. She closed her eyes.

_Just for a moment._

* * *

A sprinkle of cold water dripped over her stomach startling her. When she opened her eyes, she found Zi'Tak leaning over her, his face still speckled with water droplets. 

“Hey!” She sat up a bit self consciously. How long had she been asleep for? She tentatively brushed the sand off her arms, finding that she was well covered and “breaded”. 

“Zi'Tak: good fish!” he announced, pointing to a pointy stick holding several fish that had been lanced through the gills. 

“Nice!” She clapped lightly. 

“More, more! See!” he continued, in his excited manner. He reached down and raised two large crustaceans with beady eyes and claws into view. She peered at the odd things uneasily, never having seen, much less sampled anything of the sort. 

“What are those?”

“Mm?” He looked at them, still delighted.

She pointed at them and then shrugged. “I don’t know this.”

He blinked at her and then a triumphant smile unfurled over his lips. Suddenly he grew serious and looked at her in the eyes.

“Illandria,say hello to _Igru_.” He began very formally, lifting one of the crustaceans at her. Then he pretended to be talking to the crustacean. “Igru, hello to _Illandria_.” He then lifted one of the creature’s claws and moved it toward her, as if he were offering her a polite handshake. It was cute and comical and when the creature snapped its claw at her, she let out a little cry of surprise. “Igru!” he censored the creature sharply. “Igru be good! Igru be good dinner _now!_ ”

She couldn’t help laughing, the whole exchange so silly. Rokal carried the crustaceans carefully toward the water, where he had a small mesh bag anchored to a rock formation that was emerging as the tide receded. In the mesh bag were more items: oysters, mussels, and some interesting looking seaweed. He quickly placed the creatures inside the bag and then fastened it closed again, making sure it was safely secured to the rock. 

“Ya like?” he wondered. She looked at all the different delicacies that he had collected. Despite living in Booty Bay, she didn’t really eat much seafood. And when she did, it was usually familiar fare: white fish, sometimes shrimp. She pointed back to the fish on the spear. “Fish, yes.” She asserted. She pointed at the bag. “Igru and friends? I don’t know!” She exaggerated a shrug.

“Zi'Tak show ya, ya like,” he assured her. She looked uneasily at the _igrus_ , crawling about the bag, unable to swim off. She would give the various items in the bag a try, but wasn’t sure she wanted to eat her new “friends”.

“Can Igru go?” she asked gently, making as if to open the mesh bag.

“Igru good. Ya like,” he insisted. 

She made a sad face and he hesitated, looking at the mesh bag and at her.

“Ya see: igru: mmmm!” he mimed rubbing his belly again and her gaze was drawn to his taut stomach. She quickly averted her eyes, lest her behavior seem awkward, and she met his ever cheerful, grinning face. She scrunched her nose at him and looked doubtful. He laughed, amused.

“Come- help Zi'Tak.”

“All right.” She sighed.

* * *

 _Rocks_.

He was making her carry _rocks_. He was building a small fire pit and making her lug several rocks from the jungle to the pit he’d dug out. She’d watched him dig, his hands sifting through the sand, his arm muscles flexing and his shoulders tensing in motion. He was just a pleasure to watch, she thought sheepishly, as he kept at it, unaware of her leering. She made sure to complain a lot about the rocks just to get a reaction from him. He began to arrange the rocks neatly around the edge of the pit and inside, as well. He began to pile some sticks and leaves inside it and then lit a fire by striking a chert with a steel striker he took from a small pouch he’d placed against the tree trunk. The tinder burned up quickly and he placed some more of the sticks over it, gradually placing larger pieces of wood he’d collected… _When_? She wondered. Probably while she had been asleep, she concluded. It seemed like he had gone to some trouble to prepare that elaborate little feast for them while she slept, she thought guiltily. They remained in a comfortable silence as he stoked the fire. He mumbled to himself throughout the process, as if making a mental list of all he still needed to do. At one point, he began to look around in confusion before grumbling at himself. 

“I go. I be quick,” he explained, pointing to the forest. She nodded, mildly mystified by his explanation. Without any further explanations, he quickly climbed the rope back up into the tree house and began to rummage noisily. She peered up just as a small tin pot fell down into the sand, followed by a large, deflated water skin. Zi'Tak slipped down the rope quickly, scooping up the water skin and tossing the pot toward the pit.

“Be quick.” He said again, pointing to the forest. She nodded, picking up the pot and dusting the sand from its bottom as he rushed into the brush. It was late afternoon and soon the sun would begin its final trajectory into dusk. Her clothes still felt damp and she wondered if she should just take one last dive before dinner, to wash off all that sand on herself. Normally she rinsed off the salt water so it wouldn’t sting her skin and make her hair feel dry, but she was feeling lazy. She reached for the pack she’d tossed by the tree and yanked out her towel and the last pair of undergarments she’d brought. Her only other piece of clean clothing was a long tunic she wore to sleep. She took the towel, the tunic, and the underwear to the shore, depositing them carefully on the rock where the mesh bag still floated underwater. She cast a furtive look behind her to make sure she was alone, and then entered the water, her breath hitching from the cold. She dunked herself beneath the surface and felt all the sand fall away from her. When she emerged, she undid the binding around her breasts, tossing it to the shore and, with another glance over her shoulder, pulled down her undergarment. She tossed that too, to the shore. The mesh bag was floating in the water nearby and she saw the two igrus still poking about the bag, trying to find an escape. Tugging the mesh gently, she watched as one of the creatures stirred, its beady eyes twitching, as if examining her. A surge of pity for the poor creatures overcame her, and quickly, all the while peering behind her, undid the mesh bag. Carefully, grabbing them by their plated tails, avoiding their sharp claws, she freed both creatures. They moved forward tentatively at first, before realizing they were free, and then quickly scurried off, disappearing into the sea. As she closed the bag again, careful not to disturb the other fare he’d collected, feeling a bit ambivalent about her devious deed. A warm breeze rolled across the beach and she closed her eyes, raising her face toward the sky. It felt wonderful. She was really glad she hadn’t returned to Booty Bay.

“Ya be finished?” Zi'Tak called out behind her. She startled and quickly crouched, sinking down to her neck in the water. But she noticed his back was turned. “Illandria?”

When had he gotten back? She appreciated that he was being respectful, though, noting that he was avoiding looking at her. 

“One minute!” she called out. She had no idea if he understood. “Be quick,” she amended, grinning. She rose from the water and reached for her towel, quickly drying herself off, and then slipping her undergarment on, careful not to get her wet feet tangled in it. She swiftly pulled the tunic over her head and grabbed her dirty clothes, tossing the towel over her shoulder. “All done!” She tilted her head to the side and squeezed the water from her hair just as Zi'Tak turned around. A small jolt of pleasure coursed through her when their eyes locked. His expression was warm; in his eyes, an unmistakable tenderness... Or was it admiration? She liked how he looked at her. He broke eye contact to focus on the fire pit. He’d filled the small pot with fresh water he’d gone to collect in the nearby lake in the large water skin. He arranged the fish on the spit. A small pile of gray crystals and other herbs sat on an unfurled bloodthistle leaf.

“Spices?” she wondered. He sprinkled a small bit on his finger and mimicked sniffing it before offering it to her. She sniffed—sharp and peppery. Feeling slightly mischievous, she drew closer and licked the powder off his fingertip. It was quick—she merely lapped it off with the tip of her tongue, one innocent flick. He did not flinch, but his eyes darkened and his lips parted at her daring.

“Mm.” She pretended to be processing the tastes very intently. “Savory...Salty,” she decided. He repeated the words after her. “This has deeprock salt… ground peacebloom, earthroot,” she declared. And then, cracking a grin, “And troll.”

He chuckled at her sauciness. "Yah! Troll be magic of good dinner.”

“Aah,” she smiled back, understanding what he meant. “Troll is the secret ingredient? Not deeprock or earthroot: _Zi'Tak_ ,” she declared. 

“Yah, Zi'Tak,” he concurred. “Zi'Tak…How ya say? _Delicious_ ,” he teased her back.

He took out a vial from the small pouch and poured what looked like oil into his hands, before rubbing it over the fish. 

“Give savory here,” he instructed her, jutting his chin toward the spice mix. She placed a few pinches into his hands until he indicated it had been enough, and then proceeded to lather the fish with the mix. It smelled good. He peeked over, noting that the bit of water at the bottom of the pot had begun to bubble. 

“Good! Zi'Tak go.” He indicated his slimy hands. She nodded, realizing she was quite hungry, not having eaten since their breakfast that morning. She pushed a small stick around in the fire, watching the tall troll wander to the gently lapping shore, the tide finally low, and washing his hands in the water. She bit her lip when he walked over to the rock and began to fiddle with the mesh bag, first to unfasten it, and then with growing alarm as he turned it to and fro, not finding his igru. He rushed back to the pit, shaking the bag, shells noisily clanking against each other. 

“Igru?” he asked her, completely befuddled. He began to unfasten the mesh bag when his eyes suddenly narrowed and he put the bag down. “Illandria…where be igru?”

He was so adorably indignant!

“I'll explain to Zi'Tak,” she began, clearing her throat. He crossed his arms and pursed his lips, casting her a very annoyed look. “I said to the igru: hello, friends! Will you have dinner with Zi'Tak and Illandria?” By then his brow had furrowed at her ridiculous story. “Igru said…'Oh, no, thank you. Too hot for dinner with Zi'Tak and Illandria. Igru go bye-bye,'” she explained, barely keeping herself together. 

His eyes were two slits peering at her. 

“Aaahh, Illandria liar, liar,” he accused her crossly. “Ya do bad,” he said, shaking his head. “What we eat? No dinner!” he scolded her. 

“We have fish.” She pointed. “And this,” she raised the mesh bag’s edge, a slimy bit of seaweed brushing against her skin. “Oh, yuck.” She shuddered. 

“Oh, yuck?” he asked, fully incensed now. “ _Yuck?_ ” he cried out. She had to bite her lip from bursting out into laughter. “Zi'Tak work hard fishing _samaki_ , _igru!_ No _yuck!_ ” 

“Just a little bit?” she insisted, showing him the seaweed. “Yuck?” she said again.

He let out a growl and she yelped, getting up and sprinting in delighted alarm as he chased her down the beach. She ran as swiftly as her legs could carry her, but she was no match for the limber troll, who finally caught up with her, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her back. Before she understood what was happening, he was carrying her in his arms.

“Zi'Tak understand…Illandria friend of da igru—not friend of Zi'Tak,” he grumbled, beginning to wade into the water. It had all been funny until that point. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he waded in knee-deep. 

“What are you doing? Are you going to throw me in? Don’t do that! I don’t have anything else to wear,” she babbled nervously. He cast her a very satisfied grin, pleased to have finally gotten a rise out of her. He threatened to toss her in. “Ok, ok, I’m sorry, Zi'Tak! Put me down, I don’t want to get wet,” she pleaded, clasping him tighter. It was terribly amusing: she was at once terrified he would toss her in and aroused over being held so close against him. 

“Igru!” he called toward the sea. “Come get ya friend!” he called out. 

“What?” She shook her head, at his nonsense. She began to squirm in his arms, trying to escape. He held her tighter. Finally, as she attempted to free her legs, he lost his balance.

They both fell in. 

* * *

“It’s your fault,” she scolded him as they made their way back to the fire pit, their clothes dripping wet. 

“Illandria, _zuvembira_ ,” he declared, tilting his head to the side, shaking water out of his ear vigorously. 

“What does _that_ mean?” she asked sulkily, twisting water out of the hem of her tunic. 

He tapped his temple, rolling his eyes and letting out a low whistle. It was the universal symbol for “not right in the head,” she gathered. 

“Crazy?” she asked.

He crouched by the fire, examining the fish before replying in Zandali, repeating the word _zuvembira_ while tapping his head. He began speaking again and she understood him repeat the word _igru_ again and again.

“Oh, by Elune! Say _igru_ one more time and I am going to lose it!” she cried out exasperatedly.

He fell silent, surprised and taken aback by her outburst. He may not have understood her words, but her tone was unmistakable. He looked so stunned, she looked down and tried to hold back her laughter as well as she could. Her shoulders were shaking and she was surprised when she felt Zi'Tak's hand land gently over her arm.

“Is ok, is ok,” he repeated, his tone appeasing, kind. “Illandria no sad, please.”

It was _so_ very sweet…and _so_ not what was happening right then. She burst out laughing at last, even harder when Zi'Tak began spewing a litany of annoyed phrases at her, throwing his hands up and turning away from her. She laughed until tears were coming out her eyes and her stomach ached. He dedicated himself to his cooking, while muttering _zuvembira_ under his breath.

“I’m not _zuvembira_ ,” she countered, feeling giddy from all her laughter. 

“ _Zuvembira_ ,” he repeated.

“ _E’chuta_ Zi'Tak!” she repeated daringly. 

This time she didn’t manage to flee in time, and he hoisted her up over his shoulder, while she was kicking and screaming in amused terror, and tossed her into the water unceremoniously, even rubbing his hands loudly after throwing her in as he turned his back and returned to the fire. He plopped himself down and pretended to ignore her as she continued to chuckle. 

* * *

“Here,” he laid out a torn frond from one of the large plantain trees before her and plopped down some freshly cooked fish into it. She was resigned to her fate, sitting down in the sticky sand, her hair dripping wet, her clothes clinging to her body. She took a pinch of fish meat in her hand and popped it into her mouth. The skin was crispy, crackly, and the insides where flaky and smooth. It was just delicious; the spices did not overwhelm the fresh flavor.

He watched her expectantly.

“It’s amazing!” she admitted. He smiled proudly and began to stir the small pot. Shells clacked against each other and he pulled the pot off the fire. He began to sort through the pot, tossing out mussels whose shells remained shut.

“No good,” he explained. “Poison,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. 

They spent a good half hour enjoying the fish, Zi'Tak offering her a taste of the mussels, clams, and oysters. 

“Illandria, try!” He raised a half shell to his lips and slurped noisily, smacking his lips afterward. 

“Looks like snot,” she mumbled. He looked at her curiously.

“Snot,” she pointed at her nose, pretending to sneeze and then looking at her hands in disgust. He shook his head and laughed, still offering her a half shell. 

“You try. Good snot.” When she hesitated, he continued. She slurped the ghastly thing and he cheered. _It was…interesting_. It tasted briny, like the sea. 

“Let me try another one,” she asked. He gladly shucked another oyster shell open, inspecting it under the fire’s light before offering it to her. 

She didn’t know if it was a troll thing or maybe it was a Zi'Tak thing, but sharing a meal with him was unlike any meal she had ever enjoyed. They ate slowly, eating a little bit of this and that as it came off the fire. They had no utensils, so they ate with their hands off the leaf. He had to try everything first, making sure it was fit for her. He’d get excited about what he’d just cooked and fed her, offering bits of food from his fingers. Normally she would have balked, but coming from him, it felt normal and intimate. 

They had enjoyed the seafood, and a light broth made with kelp. It had all tasted fresh and good and she felt light and cheerful. She sat contentedly by the fire watching him wash out his pot, rubbing sand in it to scrub it clean. Despite sitting near the fire, her clothing clung to her uncomfortably. The clothes she had gone swimming in earlier were drying off on a nearby branch, still damp. The sun was setting and it was going to cool off soon. She’d have to change into…something. 

“Okkie-dokkie?” he asked, as he approached the fire, setting his pot aside to dry. 

She tugged at the front of her shirt.

“Not good. This is all wet.”

He nodded, sympathetically, pointing at his breeches, that were also wet. 

“I go,” he announced again. She furrowed her brow.

“Where to?” she puzzled.

He gestured for her to wait and watched him climb up, back to the tree house. This time, several items were tossed down onto the beach: the blanket from earlier, his leather-bound journal, a white cotton tunic, and a pipe. He came down the rope again quickly and began to collect his belongings and spread out the large blanket. He offered her the white tunic. 

“For ya. Sleep. Tonight.”

“What about you?” she asked. 

He pointed to the towel and shrugged, muttering a few things rapidly in Zandali. 

“Go, go- sun go bye. Night- brrr,” he mimed, hugging his arms and shivering. 

“It doesn’t get _that_ cold,” she noted, amused at his dramatics.

“Yah, but dis,” he poked her wet shirt at the shoulder. “Be yuck.”

She laughed. He was just too cute.

“It IS yuck,” she agreed. 

“Snot,” he concurred, wagging his tunic before her persistently.

She laughed lightly again. 

“I go here,” he informed her, walking over to the opposite site of the thick tree trunk. “Ya go dere,” he suggested.

He was proposing they change out of their wet clothes. She agreed, taking the large tunic and standing up. He threw the water skin toward her. It was still half full. “Illandria.” He began to mime washing and then added, “A little bit fo Zi'Tak, yes?”

She nodded. She’d leave him enough water to rinse off. 

**Author's Note:**

> According to Wowpedia, in Zandali "Jang" means "to protect", the meaning of which I used for "antidote/medicine".


End file.
